Rewrite the Agro of My Furied Heart
by not-the-devil-yet
Summary: "I couldn't love a man so purely, even prophets forgave his crooked way. I've learned love is like a brick, you can build a house or sink a dead body." Judas and Mary may or may not admire each other more than initially anticipated... just some pre-musical feels and such.
1. Beginnings

**A/N: Lady GaGa's songs "Judas" and "Bloody Mary" inspired this one. Needless to say, this is a ship that has now sailed. Now, let us sail the beautiful, biblical and blasphemous seas! **

* * *

"You mustn't worry about so much." the tiny, squeaky voice murmured to the man by her side, their hands intwined as they walked. The man himself seemed unabated by the words, and after a moment of probable waiting, the woman spoke again. "I truly mean it. We can handle things on our own for one day. You don't need to worry about it all..." her voice trailed off into a silence she seemed to not much desire, and as her gaze floated out to the horizon before them, one certain man behind the pair, one whose focus hadn't left them for over an hour now, rolled his eyes, tried to properly behave.

Admittedly, he had always had a problem with her.

That was where this story began. That was where this story _had_ to begin. She had always been annoying, plain and simple. She had always been a bothersome thorn in the side of their group, primarily the group's frontman, the group's leader of sorts. Judas had always despised that word, "leader". It felt too concrete, too holy, perhaps, though Mary never have had a problem with treating the man as such. Or at least she never seemed to have a problem with it. All of those nights sleeping by his side, all of those days spent walking at his side, holding his hand. It was sickening. From the start, she had been like that. _The same old, prostitute she's always been_, Judas had said once, unfortunately within earshot of a few of the others.

_"Leave her alone."_  
_"Stop whining, would you?"_

Needless to say, Judas learned to keep his jealous remarks to himself.

Occasionally, though, when the majority of the group was far off or away enough to not hear his every word, he would mention his distaste to Mary herself. He didn't mean to offend, only meant to express his slight anger and annoyances. Peter wouldn't listen, Simon never listened to anyone, much less Judas. John was out of the question; he would be judged too much then, he was sure of it. Jesus was also out of the question; he would be lectured, told to not hold such malice in his heart. He didn't want a lecture and he surely didn't want to be judged. And so, the little bit of logic in his mind pointed to talking directly to the source of it all. That made perfect sense, didn't it? Surely she would listen, surely she would take in account the friendship that their leader and he shared. Surely, things would change.

"I'm simply repaying the favor." she would explain. Always something along those lines. Always in that same compassionate, eerily soft tone. Always in a quiet, forgiving voice that practically screamed _"Stop picking on me!"_

_"I'm helping him since he helped me."_  
_"He deserves it."_  
_"He saved me, Judas."_

He wouldn't argue. It was wrong to disrespect a woman of any profession, of any age and of any race or ethnicity. Sure, he couldn't stand that she once sold her body for coin. Sure, he couldn't stand how very close she was becoming with his best friend. And sure, he couldn't stand that _annoying_, _irritating_ tone of hers. But he still wouldn't argue with her. He would just mumble something, mutter a sarcastic, witty response and go about his way. He wouldn't look back to her, not always. He didn't need to see her roll her eyes again, he didn't need to see that obviously annoyed expression spread across her face.

He didn't need to see how he had upset her.

He had seen that all before, a few times when he had been either too curious or too dumb to watch her react to his words. It hurt a little, the sight of it all.

Ah, who was he kidding? It hurt a _lot_. Too much, actually, and he didn't like it.

She was dirt, filth, grime. She was to be below him

_(not like that damn it)_

and nowhere near as important as him. She was to be just another friend, just another sister. Even if she crawled beneath his skin and (he swore it to be) purposely poked and prodded at him with her little voice of false innocence and manufactured dignity and pride, she was still meant to be below him

_(damn it stop that)_

and less important. Yes, that was what it was. _Less_ important. Not _more_ important, as she seemed to believe. As Jesus seemed to believe. As _everyone_ seemed to believe.

"Judas?" a tiny voice caught his attention, and as light eyes shot to meet dark, he actually caught a glimpse of a smile. It wasn't a friendly, polite one, though. No, it was the sort of smile a scheming, mischievous little child would show to an older sibling. Still, it held a strange sense of gentleness, of compassion. Why she insisted on showing him such things even after all that had occurred was beyond him, but he wouldn't protest. Not now, anyway.

"Yes?"

"We're setting up camp soon. I think we all need to rest."

He gave her a knowing nod, a quiet, nearly inaudible sigh. A smile once she looked away. It all felt so strange, so odd, so _secretive_. Maybe a good night's sleep would make it all go away. _Probably not_, he thought, _but maybe_.

* * *

**A/N: My Judas muse is alive! IT'S ALIIIIIIVE! *shakes fists enthusiastically at the heavens***


	2. Reflections: Part I

**A/N: *furiously gives Judas his own chapter for reflections***

* * *

It was early morning. Too early for him to be up and awake, that much was sure, but he couldn't help it. Sleep hadn't come quite as easily as he had hoped that it would. His mind was too occupied with distant hopes, dreams, fantasies of that once possessed, twice saved woman with the dark hair, the hazel eyes that seemed to almost glisten in the bright Judean sun. Her voice, that tiny, stubborn little voice, echoed in the back of his head behind all of the chaotic thoughts and ideas that swarmed and swirled within it. That _annoying_, _irritating_ tone reflected silently against the clear lake that outlined the land only a short walk away from camp, far enough to be alone yet close enough to not be.

_("He saved me, Judas.")_

Yes, _he_ saved her. Not Peter, or Simon, or John, who all were present when she was initially exorcised from those seven devils, those seven evil spirits that had haunted her soul for so long. Not Judas, who watched her rest during the aftermath, who sat in silence for seconds, minutes, _hours_, in fear of the evil that had escaped the woman. Not Judas, who assured himself over and over and _over_ again that those evil beings wouldn't enter him. No, not him. He didn't save anybody.

He tossed a pebble into the water then, watched the still sheet of liquid ripple and quake in a peaceful, harmonious pattern. The sun was beginning to rise slowly in the distance, the orange glow of morning was beginning to appear gently against the water. It had been long, _too_ long, since he had seen such a beautiful sunrise. Sleeping in and resting well was a luxury, he had realized that a while ago. He could thank Jesus for that. He wouldn't, in fear of sounding greedy or selfish, but he could. If the others didn't despise him so much. If they actually listened to him, and embraced him, and accepted him.

_("I'm helping him since he helped me.")_

_Repaying the favor_, he remembered as an offhanded note. The others did that, too; Peter assisted in spreading his friend's teachings across the land, Simon helped by planning ahead, plotting routes and itineraries. Mary aided by offering the love and affection that the others were either too afraid or too shy to provide. He wasn't exactly sure _how_ he contributed to things, especially with her around. Before, when she meant nothing to their little clan, it was _Judas_ who stood at their leader's side. It was _Judas_ who held his hand, slept by his side in a stubborn, determined effort to make the man actually sleep and rest. It was _Judas_ who loved him.

Another pebble was tossed in to the water then, another quiet splash and another rippling, quaking motion of the water. Why was he so easily distraught by these thoughts? She had been with them for months now; none of this was anything new. Months ago, he wouldn't be so torn about his emotions, his feelings, his own thoughts. Months ago, she didn't anger him so. She didn't frustrate him so. She didn't _confuse_ him so. _Maybe it grew over time_, a little voice - one that sounded oddly familiar - spoke up in the back of his mind, and he audibly sighed at that.

"Maybe." he mumbled, muttered under his breath as yet another pebble collided with the water, this one having been hurled across the lake in a much more forceful, exasperated toss. He watched as the rock hit the water, splashed it up into the air a little. He watched as the one simple, stupid pebble sent shock waves through the lake. For a moment, he thought of Mary. He thought of her beauty, of how simple it was, of how easy and natural it seemed. He thought of how easily she shook their group. He thought of her voice, that_ annoying_, _irritating_ tone that she used around him. He thought of her now, how she was probably just beginning to wake. How disheveled her hair must be, how clean and pure her face must be without all of that makeup, without all of those bright colors and dark lines that distracted from her smile. He imagined her waking up, probably at Jesus' side, and smiling. He thought for a long moment on that smile, how wonderful it must be to know that you're the cause of it. How great it must be to know that she, a woman of almost unearthly beauty, loved you. How she adored you, how she admired you, how she _worshiped_ you.

_He doesn't understand_, his inner monologue interjected. _He has such a beautiful woman at his side, and he doesn't even realize it._

He stood then, held a pebble in his hand. He watched the water sit in its still, calm rest. He watched the sun rise slowly across the horizon. He thought of Mary. He thought of Jesus. He thought of the group, how calm they were, how easily and naturally they coexisted with one another. He thought of himself. He thought of none of the apostles liked him, he thought of how only two people showed him even the tiniest bit of compassion. He thought of how much disturbance and ruckus he tended to cause within the group.

He thought back to Mary.

The soft sound of water splashing from yet another pebble echoed against the sunrise, against the horizon, against the apostle's silent revelation.

_Only two can cause trouble_, he thought as he finally began to walk back to the camp site. _We're one in the same._

* * *

**A/N: Reflections? Get it? *ba dum tsss*  
**


	3. Reflections: Part II

**A/N: **steals the microphone away from Judas and shoves it to Mary instead****

* * *

It was early morning. The sun was already beginning to rise, the soft and gentle glow of morning was already beginning to shine through the tent. The gleams were muffled by the grey colored plastic and for that, she was thankful. She didn't quite want to leave the tent's confines just yet, her mind wasn't quite ready to deal with or handle the casual chatter of the others just yet. Sleep had come easily last night, but those dreams of irrational hopes and illogical fantasies were now being washed away by the thoughts of the coming day's plans. The camp sounded eerily silent, and only after a few moments did she realize that she may be the only one awake. Surely she wasn't, though; there was always Judas.

Judas wasn't a bad man. A little too rebellious, maybe, and a little too outspoken and opinionated, maybe, but he wasn't a bad man. He had a heart, she could tell. How far deep it was hidden, she wasn't quite sure, but she knew that it was there. She saw it on occasion. It was never shown to her, though, or at least not directly. There was only one person who received Judas' love and affection, but Mary couldn't chastise him for that. She understood that part.

The part she _didn't_ understand was why he was so cold to everyone. What had Peter done wrong? Simon? John? Most of all, what had _she_ done wrong? What had she done to deserve such bitter, spiteful treatment? She always tried to treat him with respect, and kindness, and...

Okay, she wouldn't lie to herself.

On occasion, she knew, she would purposely bother him. Perhaps it would be with a sly, witty remark to counter his own, perhaps it would be with a discreet smirk caught only by the corner of his eye. Perhaps it would be a bright smile to counter his moody attitude. Whatever it would be, she always saw it as being joking. A tad bit rude sometimes, maybe, but that was okay, wasn't it? She always figured that he did the same. Fighting fire with fire wasn't the best of ideas, sure, but that was okay. It made him stop, at least, and that was a good thing. The last thing that anybody needed was an angry, ranting Judas.

She had never much seen him get _too_ angry. More moody than usual, yes, and more outspoken than usual, yes, but never really angry, just sulky. When all was said and done and when whatever insults he had in his mind were gone, he was just like a petulant, defeated little kid. That was how he usually was, though, and just the thought of the man sitting off somewhere all alone pouting and being irritated made her smile to herself. It was probably too early for him to be up and awake, but she still liked to imagine it. She still liked to imagine that he was more human than he tried to let on. She still liked to imagine the man actually smiling, actually being happy, even if it was when nobody was watching. Maybe he was up and awake, maybe he was off somewhere by himself. Thinking, watching, listening.

The soft rustling of a nearby tent reminded her of what was _actually_ happening right now, and she quickly moved about to prepare herself for the day. Dress, boots, makeup, hair...it was one of the few remaining quirks from her past. It was a past that was speculated by many, but known by few. She preferred to keep it that way, too, and so she made sure that it didn't take her all that long before she emerged from her tent. The bright Judean sun shone up above, the dirt and dust beneath her feet danced about from the sudden movement. She took a long, understanding glance around, casting a polite smile and a friendly wave to both Simon and Peter when their gazes met. She looked then to one tent in particular, that of their so-called leader, before looking back to her friends. One nod was enough to tell her that the man she stood by through the day was still fast asleep, and she sighed quietly to herself before looking back out away from the camp. It looked like water in the near distance - a lake, maybe - and that was when a thought

_(If he was anywhere, he would be there.)_

crossed her mind. Approaching Judas alone was a strange thought, something she had never even attempted to do before in fear of his anger getting the best of him. He wouldn't hurt her, or at least she didn't think that he would, but she had never really wanted to take any chances. He tended to be unpredictable, and moody, and...

She gave a comforting, soothing wave and glance to her friends before ultimately allowing her curiosity to get the best of her. She let her heart lead the way, not her head. Her head, of course, was screaming at her to

**_(STAY AWAY FROM HIM, DON'T GO LOOKING FOR HIM!)_**

but her heart was the tiny voice behind it, the voice that sounded strangely familiar. The one saying

_(This is your chance to mend your wrongdoing. Go, find him. Apologize.)_

She wasn't quite sure what she would be apologizing for, but she could think of something. She had time - the lake was a good walk away. She had _plenty_ of time...

* * *

**A/N: I am falling in love with this ship. Help. **


	4. Strange Thing

**A/N: Meanwhile, outside of Jerusalem...**

* * *

He was minding his own business walking back to camp, hoping to get back before everyone woke up.

He wasn't doing anything wrong.

She was determined. She was going off to find him, hoping to have some alone time with him.

She wasn't doing anything wrong.

She noticed him first. He had his head down, his focus seemed to be elsewhere, away from this lake, away from the group, and away from her. _Probably thinking_, she thought, but she didn't say it aloud. If she had learned anything, it was to not interrupt someone's train of thought, especially if that someone just so happened to be Judas Iscariot. She worried then if he had expected her arrival here this morning. Had he seen her coming? Had he known that she would come to find him? She mentally tried to think of something to say, _anything_ to say. Anything to make this not awkward. Anything to calmly, gently bring his attention back to reality instead of whatever was going on his mind. Anything to calm her down, to calm _him_ down. Anything to start this conversation off right.

He noticed her second. Her initial theory was correct; he was thinking. He had been mentally constructing a confession to tell to the woman who seemed to despise him. It was an apology of sorts. He wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for; for being cold? For being bitter? For being himself? He didn't really know. He looked up once, glanced out to the camp ahead of him, and that was when he saw her. She was beautiful (_as always_), but she looked distraught, upset, worried. She was walking towards him, probably coming to find him and tell him that Jesus wanted to see him. That was probably what she wanted. She never came to speak with him over personal matters; she knew better than that, didn't she? She was probably just sent as a messenger; she had been before. That thought bothered him. Why couldn't Jesus himself come to find him? Why must he send Mary to do it? It made him feel silly, having her lead him back to his friend. It made him feel like a prisoner of some sort. That was what he was, wasn't it? Just a prisoner? A mockery? A joke? A-

"Good morning, Judas." she finally settled on those words, a gentle smile. It was polite enough, wasn't it?

_(Oh, don't you dare use such an innocent tone with me, you fucking bi-)_

"Morning." he muttered, kept walking. He didn't mean to give her such a bitter glance, but it came, anyway, as he walked straight past her. But she wasn't going to settle for that, no.

"What are you doing out here?"  
"I was just leaving."

"Judas, no." she spoke this rather abruptly, soon realizing her mistake; she sounded _far_ too eager for him to stay. Far too desperate, far too scheming, far too- "Stay. Please...I would like to speak with you."

Much to her surprise, he actually stopped walking. He didn't turn around to face her, not at first, but he did stop.

He didn't know what to do, not anymore. His original theory was dashed and destroyed, and a new one had yet to replace it. He didn't know _what_ to think. She wanted to speak to _him_? Alone? But why? Did she not know any better? _Maybe Jesus sent her,_ the thought again skimmed through his head, but he ignored it. If Jesus wanted the two to speak, Judas would have known; despite popular belief, he did know what his friend's plans were. Well...he did most of the time, at least. Aside from right now, when he didn't know whether to blame Jesus or Mary or both. He was just fine being out here all alone. He was content. Not really happy, but still content. Why did she have to come out here to find him? To talk to him? He thought of how he could just leave; just walk away. It would be far too easy to just keep walking, to ignore her.

But he wouldn't do that.

That would be disrespectful. Contradictory to popular belief, he did understand respect. He knew what was respectful and what was not. Just walking off and away from someone when they were speaking to you was rude and highly disrespectful. Did this mean that he had never done it before? No, he had walked away before; but not from Mary. Besides, walking away showed weakness. It showed fear. He wouldn't be a coward like that. If there was anything that Judas Iscariot was not, it was a coward. He was planning to speak to her eventually, was he not? This would be the most opportune moment to do so. He knew that. And so, no matter how reluctantly it may have been, he turned around to face her. He watched her, gave her a glance that could only be interpreted as saying '_Do something! I'm not waiting all morning..._', which were the words he didn't much want to say right now in fear of upsetting her even more.

After a few seconds, he realized he was putting far too much pressure on her to speak first. He nodded, motioned for her to follow him. He led her down to the lake in a way of making the conversation a bit more isolated and private. It also provided a distraction if either of the two needed one, which he figured would be necessary at some point. He looked out to the lake, remembered his deep thoughts from earlier in the morning. Admittedly, he got a bit lost in them again. When he looked down after a moment, he was slightly surprised to find Mary now sitting in the grass, staring out at the lake just as he had been. He took a seat at her side, shocked that she was allowing him to sit so close to her.

"It's beautiful." she finally remarked, and after giving a quick glance to her, he nodded and looked back out to the water.

_Maybe not the best way to start a conversation about our friendship_, she thought, _but it will have to do_. _At least he stayed. At least he's tolerating me. _

"I was surprised to find you here." she continued, trying to give him something to talk and expand on. "When I awoke, I thought that you were still sleeping. Then I remembered seeing this lake." she smiled a little at the memory of her realization earlier. "The others are still sleeping. Peter and Simon are awake. Did they see you leave?"

_Oh, great_, he thought, _she's trying to force me to talk_.

"No." he shook his head a bit, but still kept his gaze out on the lake. "They were all asleep when I woke up and came out here. I don't believe I disturbed anyone..." he paused, leaving that phrase open because, for all he knew, he could have very well have accidentally woken his friends up. He could have very well have accidentally woken up Peter, and Simon, and - _oh_. "...did I wake you up?"

_Oh my, he's actually speaking with me_, she thought, _this is strange._

"Oh, no. I awoke on my own." she smiled politely out at the lake, which had been the main focus of both of their gazes, before she glanced over to her friend. He must have seen this, as he glanced over at her at this same moment.

_Strange_, he thought, _why is she looking at me like that?_

"Well...that's good, I suppose." he finally spoke, finally broke the awkward eye contact. He looked back out to the lake, ignored the frantic thoughts of panic and fear and _what the hell just happened_.

She looked out to the lake, as well, ignored the flurried thoughts of adrenaline and lust and _wow, that was wonderful_.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaand cliff hanger! I will continue from there next time I sit down to write. c:**


End file.
